


Parting Words

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tv-universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt:  "Promise me you'll always remember: you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."  (A.A. Milne)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Words

**Author's Note:**

> 1st of 5 unconnected ficlets for LJ's tv_universe "Quotables" challenge.
> 
> * * *

"It's not much further," Carl says.

Rick tries to speak but can only nod, palm pressed tightly to the wound in his side. Tries to stand straight and force his legs to move normally, too, but he's still mostly slumped against Carl, his head drooping onto his son's shoulder. And he's not sure just when Carl grew big enough for that, when the stubby little kid with the freckles became this tall, sturdy man with steady green eyes.

Rick leans on his son and watches his own blood leave a trail behind them in the snow.

There's only one walker by the cabin, and Carl gets him inside – warmth, not much but it's out of the wind at least – and a grimy cot and a long-dead body turning to dust in the chair by the barren fireplace. Rick eases down onto the cot, opens his mouth to warn Carl to be careful, to tell him that despite their skills it only takes one damn walker to kill a person and hell, isn't he the proof of that? But when he looks up his son is gone, and the next time he opens his eyes it is to a cold cloth on his forehead and the sun setting beyond the cracked and dirty windowpane.

"How?" he manages to get out from between cracked, dry lips, and then Carl is lifting his head, putting a cup to his mouth. He sips carefully at the water but he's still burning up, his bones cracking with the heat. 

"Don't try to talk," Carl says. His long hair is matted and filthy, his clothing ripped from their mad dash through the brambles. This life is not what he wanted for his little boy, the child who used to be fascinated with trains and who still believed in Santa Claus long after his playmates had become cynical about the concept. But Carl's eyes are clear and his voice is steady and strong. Carl's a good man. He hopes Lori would be proud. 

"We'll hole up here, and in the morning I'll get you back to—"

"Carl."

"I'll get you back to camp! You're going to be okay, Dad. You're going to—"

"Son," Rick says. "We both know that's not going to happen."

He watches Carl's throat convulse, watches him dip his head and stir at the melted snow in the cup with one long finger. He waits, and when Carl raises his head he has managed to blink back the tears. 

"You can do this without me. You're a good leader," Rick says. There is so much he wants to tell him, so much that he thought he had time to say. But the cabin is growing darker, much darker than it should be even with only the meager light from the stub of the candle, and all the time in the world has dwindled down to minutes, maybe seconds. He swallows dryly, blinks the sweat out of his eyes. "Promise me you'll always remember: you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

"I'll remember."

"Take care of your sister. Michonne will help. Tell her…" Rick stops, his own throat convulsing. What can he say to the woman who has helped raised his children, always set him straight when he needed it, shared his bed? 

Carl puts a hand on his; cold, so cold on his fever-bright skin. "She knows."

"I love you, son. I love all of you," Rick says. He shivers, closes his hand on Carl's and squeezes as tight as he can. And he knows the fever brings hallucinations, but when he sees Lori standing at Carl's shoulder he chooses to believe that she's come back to bring him home.

Rick nods, even manages a slight smile when turns his attention back to Carl. He raised him to be strong and fair, to be brave, to be a good man. He did his best. That's all a man can do. 

Then he closes his eyes, turns his head away. He wants his last sight to be of his son, not the barrel of a gun.


End file.
